


Allergic Reactions

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: When alien champagne, table decorations and allergy medication combine to floor an armoury officer, only a certain chief engineer has a sure-fire cure.  But is Tucker ready to take the leap? And will Reed allow it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Unbeta'd as ever, with sentences in italics representing a character's thoughts. Could take place anytime from Season 2 onward.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another away mission has a sting in the tail. Why do these things always happen to Trip Tucker's favourite Armoury Officer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I can't resist the appeal of a Reed without inhibitions...

"It's the best I can do, Captain." If Phlox were human, Jonathan Archer decided, he'd be wringing his big, gentle hands in despair about now. Or ripping out his hair in handfuls. "Lieutenant Reed has commented in the past that he finds the decon chamber relaxing, and at the moment it's the easiest way of minimising external stimuli."

"You're no closer to finding a cure?" Archer hadn't dared peek into the softly-lit box; not after seeing his tough little stoic of an armoury officer rocking on a biobed, a scrunched ball of human misery. Phlox lifted his hands.

"Until I can determine the exact compounds we're dealing with, any intervention might only make the lieutenant's, ah, _condition_ more uncomfortable. In due course..."

The Denobulan's soothing speech was interrupted by an almighty crash as someone physically assaulted the Sickbay doors, causing every small member of Phlox's caged menagerie on the far side of the room to squeal, flutter or chirp. "Commander..." he began querulously, his automatic half-pace forward blocked by Archer's quick, convulsive move.

"Where is he?" Heedless of the doctor's protest Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III sidestepped the attempted interception, panicked blue stare darting from one empty bed to the next and back. "Hoshi said he's had some kind of bad allergic reaction..."

For the first time since leaving spacedock Jonathan Archer wished his brilliant and hand-picked communications officer could be a little _less_ communicative. "I know I should've told you first, Trip, but trust me - Malcolm's going to be fine."

The Southerner's attempted snort came out as a broken sob. "He always says that, but - you've gotta let me see him, Cap'n, please. What's goin' on? Hosh said he didn't even hafta be sent, just reported to Phlox himself, and that ain't my Mal. 

"And wasn't it crazy to release him to quarters? Shouldn't he be where the Doc can keep an eye on him?" The moment Archer's grip on his arm relaxed Tucker was on the move, pacing the confines of Sickbay like a caged tiger. "Dammit, how could you leave him alone without knowing..."

"Mister Reed is in Decon, Commander." The slight against his professional competence was too much to bear. Phlox forced his way between the two humans, his kindly face positively twitching with repressed outrage. "And I'd be grateful if you would vacate my offices and allow me to get on with my work!"

"Decon?" Even his helmsman, Archer considered, was poker-face personified alongside a het-up Trip Tucker. "Did he pick somethin' up down there, I thought Hoshi said it was his allergies - she saw him tearin' along to Sickbay like his ass was on fire. C'mon, Johnny, you know how I feel! Let me see him!"

"Commander, are you implying you and Lieutenant Reed..."

Archer made a swift chopping motion. Phlox's excited question died on his tongue.

"Malcolm had a mild reaction to the tropical grasses in the Bantal ballroom," the captain explained, squeezing his own anxiety from the words in deference to the younger man's agitated state. "He took a shot of his allergy meds when he got back to his quarters..."

"He told me he was gonna do that." The calm tone was having an effect; at least Tucker wasn't trying to shake off his consoling hand this time. Archer sighed.

"The medication reacted with something in the drink they insisted we try - the Essence of Equanimity or whatever. Phlox is analysing a sample right now, and as soon as he's figured its chemical composition, he'll fix up an antidote. Malcolm wouldn't want you to worry..."

"I know, but Jon..." Helpless, Tucker waved both coolant-stained hands in admission of defeat. "Let me see him. Please."

Forgotten, Phlox gave a theatrical cough. "Commander, if it's not too personal a question: are yourself and Lieutenant Reed lovers?"

From his captain the Denobulan won a shocked sputter; from the engineer, a blush and a sheepish shrug. "We're getting there, Doc," Trip admitted, the sheer wonder of it breaking like a Florida sunrise over his handsome face. "We're more than friends, but if you're asking what I think you're asking, then... no. I've never been with a guy before, and Mal's insisting we take it slow."

"In that case - Captain, I strongly recommend that Mr Tucker be denied access to the Decon area."

"Cap'n..." With both his companions visibly braced for a gust of fury, his wretched wail seemed twice as loud. "You've gotta let me see him! I love him, and he loves me."

"I know that, Trip." More than once during the course of their long friendship had Jonathan Archer played father-confessor to a lovelorn Charles Tucker III over assorted women, but never had he seen the man as bedazzled as he was now by their eminently male Armoury Officer. Looping an arm over the hunched shoulders he steered the younger man to sag against the nearest biobed, a look enough to shuffle Phlox out of their path. "But that's why you shouldn't go too close right now, for Malcolm's sake."

"I don't get it."

Captain Archer shared a consulting look with his Chief Medical Officer, a gusty sigh escaping his lips at the Denobulan's uncharacteristically sombre nod. "You know they told us that happy-juice of theirs contained a mild stimulant," he said levelly, tightening his grip when Trip would have shucked free to stare. "Remember how everybody relaxed after drinking it?"

Trip sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, struck by the memory of Malcolm lowering his glass from juice-purpled lips that turned instantly up into a stunned and stunning smile. "I remember."

"When Mister Reed injected his allergy medication, it accelerated the stimulant effect on his system by ninety percent," Phlox continued, deliberately mimicking Archer's subdued tone. "I've relocated him to the decon chamber as much for greater privacy as the absence of external stimuli, because..."

Denobulans, Archer noted, aware he'd have been fascinated if he weren't so embarrassed himself, blushed to burnt umber. "Malcolm's aroused, Trip," he said bluntly, relieved to see his fellow human flush as crimson as himself. "In fact, when I last saw him, he was horny as hell and clutching the biggest hard-on I've ever had the misfortune to see. He's going crazy with lust right now, which means - given how worried he's been about not rushing you - you're probably right up alongside Ambassador Soval as the last person he'd like to come visiting."

There were several moments of silence while Tucker contemplated his friend's words, then re-checked his internal translator to ensure he'd got it right. Even the osmotic eel, Archer suspected, was holding its breath.

Whatever the eel was expecting, Jonathan Archer was taken by surprise. The veins in his neck bulging alarmingly, Trip erupted. 

"Damn stubborn, stupid, repressed Limey idiot!" he bawled, resuming his pacing with a vengeance. "What's the matter with him, too fuckin' uptight t' use his goddamn _hands?_ "

While his captain goggled in mortified horror, Phlox sailed right in where angels dared not tread. "Lieutenant Reed did take matters into his _own hands_ , if you'll excuse the poor pun, Commander, but the results were - unsatisfactory," he pointed out, bland enough to make a twitchy engineer's fingers itch with the urge to wrap around his throat. "Unless I can determine an antidote, the only cures for his discomfort would appear to be time, or full, penetrative intercourse."

Physicians of all species, Jonathan Archer had observed, took a twisted kind of delight in referring to intimate acts before an audience of foot-shuffling senior officers. "Well can't you give the poor guy a sedative or something?" Trip squawked, puce to the roots of his ruffled blond hair. Phlox pursed his mouth.

"Without understanding the composition of the _Bantal happy-juice_ causing his symptoms, I dare not risk any medical interference," he explained, as if to an especially slow child. Trip pouted back at him.

"So Mal's s'posed to just suffer?" he challenged. 

For the first time Jonathan Archer saw his C.M.O. look sheepish. "Let me see him."

"Trip..."

"Jon." By the use of his friend's given name Tucker demonstrated his absolute seriousness. "Malcolm needs me."

"No."

"Dammit, Cap'n!" If appeals wouldn't work, Trip was perfectly willing to try fury instead. "You can't just let the guy _suffer_ like this when there's a way to prevent it! Let me take care of my man!"

Watching the two humans face off across a slowly decreasing range as each man leaned unconsciously into the other's personal space, Phlox hacked out another exaggerated cough. "Gentlemen, Mr Tucker's voluntarily visiting him offers the best short-term prospect of relieving my patient's ahem, _symptoms_ ," he observed, only flinching when both pairs of narrowed, fire-filled eyes flicked his way. "But as your physician I'm reluctant to encourage such a course. Anal intercourse can be extremely painful: your inexperience adds to the risk, and Malcolm is in no condition to take care."

" _Malcolm_ won't hurt me." The rare lapse from formality shot an electric current of hope through Trip's chest, matched as it was by the compassion glinting from the Denobulan's large, over-bright eyes. "C'mon, Johnny! _You_ know he's the one been holdin' us back. I'm ready for more, and I don't care how het-up he is. Malcolm would never hurt me."

"I'll be monitoring - from a discreet distance of course," Phlox clarified before either human could object. "And as unofficial ship's counsellor, if there are any residual emotional repercussions. Our Lieutenant Reed is prone to carry the weight of the planet on his shoulders..."

"Weight of the world, Doc," Trip corrected, a reluctant grin the match of his oldest friend's appearing at the minimal slip. "And yes, I know - Mal'll feel like shit after, thinkin' I felt _obliged_ and all, but I'll deal with that. Right now, he needs help and that's all that matters."

It felt like an eternity before the Chief Medical Officer nodded and the Captain dipped his head, acknowledging his powerlessness. "I'll be on the bridge," he said tersely, preceding them out the doors to turn left where they went right. "Keep me informed, Doctor."

"Of course - but not too closely." Delighted by his own wit - and more so, Tucker suspected, by the captain's volcanic blush - Phlox almost skipped along the corridor toward his little blue torture chamber with Trip shuffling in his wake, suddenly chilled with realisation.

It was going to happen. And he wasn't sure - now there was no turning back - just how ready he really was.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's purely medicinal - honest!

Phlox was, he admitted reluctantly, more perceptive behind his cheery facade than most people gave him credit for. The usual happy flow of Denobulan insight and inquisitiveness was stilled right until they reached the outer decon chamber when a large hand caught his wrist, subtly turning him back from his mission. "Commander - and rest assured this will not appear in any _paper_ I might care to publish - how far have you taken the, umm, _intimate_ side of your relationship with Lieutenant Reed?"

His heart had sunk at the qualification, but Phlox's discomfort at least had a mitigating effect on Trip's own. "We've done a lot of kissin' and cuddling," he admitted before the failsafes against innate Tucker honesty could come online. "I've had my hands inside his shirt, but if you're asking what I think... we've always kept our pants on."

"I was afraid you might say that." Compassionate blue eyes dipped, the deference to his virgin state more humiliating than a frank request to watch. Trip glanced toward the isolation chamber, every muscle in his legs tightened against the twin ancient impulses of fight and flight. Malcolm needed him and he yearned to be with his boyfriend, yet the unknown loomed before him and his inner pre-teen was screaming at him to turn and run. Fast.

"I assume you have some idea of what to, ahem, _expect_." Phlox, he realised, was flailing. Out of his depth, and just as embarrassed as his patient. "The _scale_ of an aroused penis doesn't vary much among humans - unlike the Vissari, who can differ by thirty centimetres depending on their continent of birth..."

"I've seen my own, Doc." Jesus, now he was taking pity on his nursemaid! "And - well, Malcolm and I've played around enough. I've felt him up against me, and yes, I know - he's not the biggest guy on the ship, but he sure packs a punch down there."

The Denobulan grinned and briefly Trip felt himself relax. "He's the one been holding back when I've wanted to explore," he said, standing straighter as the weight of fear dissolved under anticipation's tingling rush. "I know he's gonna be a bastard when this is over - he'll clam up into that _perfect little officer_ his Daddy wanted him to be, treating me all formal again, but I can deal with that. Just - just let me go help him, alright?"

With a crisp nod the doctor turned away. "You'll find decon gel works admirably, Commander," he trilled over his shoulder, clarifying at the Southerner's puzzled look. "As lubricant!"

Before Trip could form a response, he was gone.

For a full minute he stood alone in the corridor, T'Pol's Vulcan meditation exercises battling the all too human mixture of panic and illicit excitement rising like smoke out of his stomach. He'd been pressing Malcolm to take their tentative explorations further for weeks, increasingly needy and alarmed by the Brit's stubborn refusal to believe he could possibly want more. Now - well, if Phlox was right, Lieutenant Repressive wasn't going to have a whole lot of say in the matter.

If only Commander Freewheeler could decide, Tucker thought grimly as he approached his destiny, whether to whoop for joy or bawl for Mommy!

One peek into the small inner chamber and the decision was made. Stark naked, Malcolm sat on the bench in the far corner of the softly-lit box, sweat glistening in silver drops across his furrowed brow while he rocked, his right hand cupping mere millimetres away from the biggest, most extravagant erection Trip had ever drawn as a sex-obsessed teenager back from a day on the beach. Decon's soundproofing muted the little whimpers he could see twitching the younger man's thinned lips as he fidgeted, fine tremors racing through his tautly-held frame. His hair was spiked from too many agitated finger-combs; droplets of blood stood out bright around his bite-swollen mouth. 

He looked, Trip considered, magnificent. Like hell, but still spectacular. 

Deftly he removed his outer layers, keeping on his bright blue underwear lest his nudity spook the suffering man. "Hey, Mal. You want some company in there?"

"Piss off."

It wasn't encouraging, but Trip knew his beloved friend too well to expect champagne and chocolates. Careful not to move too fast he eased the connecting door open just enough to slide around, heart contracting when Reed spun away, eyes screwed shut against - he assumed - the raw temptation of a near-naked Tucker. "Malcolm, darlin'. I wanna help."

Of course it was the natural thing to say: he realised immediately it had also been completely the _wrong_ thing to say to an oversexed, over-sensitive Reed being battered by an unholy combination of testosterone and shame. "I'm fine."

"Course you are." Under normal circumstances that would get him a scorching glare - or a jab in the ribcage for being a _patronising prat_. The best Malcolm could manage in his debilitated state was a painful grunt. "After all, you're just going insane with lust and that's nothing a Reed can't handle, right?"

The finely-chiselled features he longed to caress creased into a snarl. "Get. Out."

"Nope." Deliberately insouciant he removed his tank and tossed it high, fluttering like a giant blue butterfly to land, ticklish, against the Englishman's curled-in toes. "I know you're scared, babe. And I know I'm prob'ly the last person you want seein' you in this state, but - tough. I'm here, and I'm goin' nowhere."

"You don't. Understand." The words were ground out between clenched teeth. Keeping his body angled away from temptation, Reed dug his fingers into his palms, focussed on the erotic sting. "I can't - oh God, Trip!"

His erection pulsed and he clawed it, raking the over-stimulated organ like a child attacking a scab. "It hurts," he moaned, feeling every pulse point leap against the maddening surge of desire. "It's not - please love, just _go away_."

It was the endearment that betrayed him, and in the process broke Charles Tucker the Third's susceptible heart. "Not until you've made love to me, Mister Reed," he whispered, cautiously stretching his arm until the tip of his index finger could graze a hunched shoulder. Malcolm's breath caught noisily.

"I'm not - in control," he confessed, hanging his head. "I can't... if I hurt you..."

"You won't let that happen." He hadn't shucked off the touch; proof enough how badly he wanted it, in Tucker's increasingly lust-fuddled opinion. He edged closer, the flat of his palm sliding over sinewy muscles until his whole hand could curve around Malcolm's shoulder, providing just enough leverage to turn the man around. "I trust you, darlin'. Just let go and trust yourself for a change, okay?"

With a desperate cry Reed flung himself off the bench, knocking the bigger man backwards against the bulkhead. Winded, Trip clung to the naked whirlwind that rubbed frantically along his length, hands scrabbling against any piece of warm, silky skin they could find. "Can't scare you, don't want - oh God! - to lose you, oh please, you feel so good Trip," the brunet babbled, decon's soft blue haze turned blood-red as he delved beneath his stunned companion's shorts to grasp what Tucker discovered with foggy relief was already a fully engorged erection. 

Caught up in observing Malcolm's agony he hadn't noticed the effect all that luscious exposed flesh was having on a body which was clearly signalling _to hell with hesitation_. Expelling a sharp groan he thrust into the questing hands, impatiently shoving the unwelcome cloth barrier off his hips. "Do I look - dammit, Malcolm! - scared?" he panted, the question raised a whole octave by the nimble manipulation of his throbbing member. How many hours had he spent standing behind the tactical console, watching the duty officer's graceful fingers and imagining their touch on his own flesh? Not, Trip decided dazedly, long enough.

The smaller man was shaking violently, still battling the torrents of testosterone that swamped his system. "Tell me what you want, Mal," Tucker ground out, somehow making the plea a senior officer's command. Of its own accord his body moved against its mate, the smallest adjustment enough to bring their matched erections into brain-blasting contact unencumbered for the first time. 

Reed's eyes flew open, meeting Tucker's direct and another bolt of adrenaline fizzed through the Southerner. Those changeable grey orbs had always reminded him of a stormy sky; now they blazed flashes of pure lightning with every frantic move the man made. Watching them left Trip petrified with need, any residual fear overwhelmed by the raw, uncontrolled beauty of his desperate lover.

"You're sure?"

 _That_ was his Malcolm; always worrying. Trip eased himself back, displaying his arousal to the younger man's ravenous gaze. "What do you think?" he rasped, knocked sideways by the intensity of the dark-haired lieutenant's avid stare. Blindly he grabbed for the small pot of slippery gel always left standing on a narrow shelf beside the outer door, thrusting it toward the stricken Brit. "Touch me, Malcolm. Love me."

"Oh God!" The jar slipped against his sweaty palm, hitting the deck with a clang that resounded off every nerve ending. Kicking it carelessly aside Malcolm launched himself at his companion, urging him onto his knees, elbows propped on the squat bench that sat across the middle of the room. Frantically he stroked the exposed back, wrenching the recalcitrant shorts apart when he couldn't force them down the spread legs. "I want..."

"I'm all yours, Gorgeous." The moment the questing hands withdrew fear closed in like a cold fog around his vitals. Trip chewed into his lower lip, trying so hard to ignore the tightness across his chest that he could focus on nothing else. The air temperature seemed to have dropped fifteen degrees. When a small whimper broke the eerie silence, he wasn't immediately sure who caused it.

He glanced over his shoulder and raw desire slammed him with the force of a star gone supernova. A sheen of sweat gilding him in the mysterious bluish light, his erect cock glistening with a thick layer of gel, Malcolm was actually drooling as he surveyed Trip's proffered ass. "Likin' the view?" the Southerner drawled, fascinated by the rapid movement of Reed's adam's apple when he swallowed hard. 

"Very much." Shaking with the effort of restraining himself Malcolm moved up behind, running his greasy hands from nape to buttocks, the tip of one long finger feathering into Trip's shadowy cleft. Tucker's breath caught. "Nice?"

"Hell, yeah." The whole finger slipped down at his assent, brushing around his hole while a hot mouth roved between the shoulder blades. On impulse he arched back, offering more of himself to the younger man's touch.

One hand delved forward, leathery and slick against his abdomen. Trip hissed, feeling every muscle contract under the demanding touch, so distracted by the southerly movement of the palm he almost missed the first ticklish breach of his entrance. "Okay?"

"Okay," he parroted, dimly surprised by the painlessness of it. He could feel that slim, confident digit working inside him, strokes against virgin skin that sent little ripples of sensation spiralling outward. "Doesn't hurt a bit."

He was rewarded with a butterfly-wing kiss across the nape that sent tingles to his toes. "More?" Malcolm rasped, flicking out his tongue to taste the salt of his lover's skin. 

"More. Oh!" 

The second finger stung for a nanosecond, more as a shock than a physical pain. Trip arched against its inquisitive touch, feeling the soft hair around his ear ruffle with Malcolm's huffs of breath. "Relax, Trip," a hypnotic voice crooned, the words damp against hyper-sensitised skin. "Trust me."

"More'n anything." It was true, and saying it uncoiled the last little resistant knot of uncertainty deep inside. Malcolm's fingers were scissoring now, stretching the untravelled passage and sending sparks wherever they landed. He barely noticed the intrusion of a third well-greased finger while the Englishman's other hand roamed up to comb through his chest hair. 

Malcolm's low chuckle washed over him, shimmering off his sweaty skin. One finger probed deeper, seeking out the small gland, and when he found it his man howled, his whole body convulsed in delicious shock. Trip's neck craned, lips already parted in breathless query. Reed stopped it with a ravenous kiss.

The pressure of tongue in mouth and fingers in ass was intoxicating. Trip bucked against the remorseless caress, barely aware of his own protesting squeak when the digits were carefully withdrawn. He felt empty. Bereft.

Then something blunt and wet nudged against his hole and panic crashed like ice-water through his over-stimulated system. "Malc..."

"Relax." The word creaked against his constricted throat; any other time, Malcolm would have laughed at his own advice. He pressed forward slightly, feeling the softened barrier of Trip's anus flex before him and all the rampant emotions he'd been fighting off battered as one against his frying brain. "Just - oh God! - let me in, Trip. Just relax."

It wouldn't fit. No way would that great big thick slippery thing pushing his asshole get in. Trip felt like he was drowning - flailing to keep his head above water. He couldn't breathe.

Then a hand curled sweetly around the base of his cock, dexterous fingers playing his most tender spots, and pure sensation burst out of his belly. He vaguely heard that mesmeric voice again, a low, rhythmical chant, telling him to relax, breathe, enjoy. 

_Malcolm_. 

His anal muscles flexed again then gave, the broad head of the Englishman's dick forcing its way past and he yelped, a burning sensation threatening to tear him in two. Soft lips nibbled his neck and the hand around his penis stroked, mingling pleasure with the splitting pain. "I've got you, so tight, so good, oh Trip," he heard Reed mumble and he sucked a deep breath, blinking away the pained moisture that stung his eyes. The smarting began to subside while Malcolm held still, every fine tremor that raced through his body passing direct into Trip's: another jolt of sensation to merge with the heat in his cock and the strange, unexpectedly satisfying sense of fullness that bloomed up through his bowels with his body's softening in acceptance of its mate.

"Better?" 

He could only nod, teeth slipping on the blood that coated his bottom lip. Another wet kiss was planted on his shoulder and then, ever so slowly, the solid length inside him began to move. 

"Oh, yeah." Warmth sluiced him, centring in his tender balls as Malcolm's hips rocked back and forth, easing him at a maddeningly slow rate deeper into the blond's tight channel. Letting his head hang down Trip pressed back in encouragement, winning a squeeze around his base for the impertinence that sent shockwaves to the leaking tip. "'s nice, Mal."

"Mmmm." Buried to the hilt, his balls slapping softly against the firmness of that irresistible bum, Malcolm dropped his head onto his lover's shoulder, pure, relieving bliss coursing through him. For the first time in forever, he felt _right_.

Then Trip's passage rippled around him and the explosions in his brain started all over again.

He withdrew to the tip and plunged deep, drawing a yell from his unsuspecting partner that went up two full octaves at the first direct hit of slippery head on prostate. Molten fire tore along Trip's spine and he jerked, forcing himself backward for more, words he didn't understand tumbling from his parted lips. He was vaguely aware of a firm hand pumping his cock, spreading its own lubricant to ease the glorious friction, but most of his attention was stuck fast on the solid staff hitting spots he'd never known existed and slowly, surely, burning him up from inside.

From across a great chasm he could hear Malcolm's voice, deep and breathless as he groaned his incoherent pleasure, the sound no less erotic than the repetitive push-pull of his dick inside Trip's ass. His head was pounding; his vision blurred. He felt his toes beginning to curl against the surge of release that built within him.

And when it broke, Trip Tucker passed out from sheer pleasure for the first time in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's got consequences to contemplate. Luckily for him, Malcolm's not fit to join in just yet.

He came to slowly, roused first by the foggy awareness of a leaden weight across his back, then the warmth of a lover's seed still ticklish in his bowels. "Malcolm?"

The weight didn't move. 

He tried again, a little louder. "Lieutenant Reed!"

When the title didn't work, he panicked.

Struggling free of the limp limbs hanging over him caused a sharp spasm of protest through his sphincter, mitigated by the pleasant friction of Reed's flaccid length sliding clear as the brunet slumped, dead to the world, to the deck. "Phlox!"

"There's no cause for concern - or sudden movement - Commander." The confines of decon ripened the Denobulan's plummy tones and Tucker frowned at the repressed amusement he sensed behind the pragmatic instruction. "Lieutenant Reed has fainted, but he's in no distress. If you'd be kind enough to _clean up_ \- you'll find wipes in the outer chamber - I'll come and retrieve him. He should remain under observation until the morning, and he's a much more palatable patient while unconscious."

Still puzzling out an insult all wrapped up in muted affection Trip padded out into the small undressing area and snagged a pack of clinician's wipes, deftly cleaning himself down before rendering the same service, with a gentler touch, to his oblivious boyfriend. "The chamber too if you don't mind, Commander," Phlox instructed. There was a faint scraping sound as the small viewing hatch was retracted, then a pair of bright eyes appeared, to be instantly eclipsed by a mile-wide grin. "Can you carry Mister Reed, or...."

"I'll manage." Stooping to gather the wiry Englishman caused a twinge and he paused, one hand pulled back to rub the sensitive area. Behind him, a throat was noisily cleared.

"Just a little sore - nothin' I can't handle," he hollered, grinding his teeth against another stab while scooping Reed's sagging weight into his arms. "Umm, you mind getting the door?"

The doctor was ahead of him, waiting with arms extended to receive his precious burden. "Take your time getting dressed," he advised, discreet enough to ignore the quick, pained twist of mobile Southern features when Tucker stretched for his roughly-folded uniform. "I'll run a few tests - on Mister Reed, of course, unless you feel the need..."

"I'm fine." The surest sign a man was spending too much time around a certain Armoury Officer, Trip thought ruefully. The phrase was out before he'd had time to contemplate it.

"If the discomfort worsens, or there's any bleeding..."

"You'll be the first to know." Shakily, Trip reached for another wipe and rubbed it hard over his glowing face. Until he was certain he was alone he kept his back to the outside world.

In truth the ache around his asshole wasn't as bad as he'd expected, easily offset by the faint, pleasant heat of post-coital contentment. What really bothered him was the chilliness seeping into his guts every time he imagined Malcolm coming round.

He flattened his palms against the cold bulkhead and let his head hang down, breathing in the reality of what they'd just done. It had been way better - and a whole lot less painful - than his boyfriend had led him to believe. He could still, if he flexed, feel the solid length of Malcolm's cock filling him, and a renewed rush tightened his balls. He wanted to do it again.

His frustrated cry echoed around the empty room. "Now how'm Ah gonna git that stubborn Limey mule t' believe that?"

*

"He's merely lightly sedated, Captain." From the other side of the sole occupied biobed Phlox flashed the toned-down, mildly pitying version of his trademark beam. "For all our sakes it's best he has a good night's sleep before facing the psychological fallout in the morning: particularly with regard to Commander Tucker."

"Thanks for the reminder." Trip's broad brow creased as he studied the handsome, fine-carved face, so open in repose. "You think I'd better be here when he comes 'round, Doc? Knowinâg Malcolm, he'll..."

"Squirrel me to let him out, then hide."

The two humans goggled for a moment before comprehension dawned. " _Badger_ , not squirrel, Phlox," Jonathan corrected gently. "Wrong mammal."

"Ah, _badger_ , yes of course." Phlox waved his hands, visibly storing the information away for future use. "However, the point remains the same. Our Lieutenant Reed's instinct is to shy away from emotional confrontation, however comfortable he may be in the physical arena."

Trip caught Jon's eye. Volcanic blushes erupted over both faces. The alert Denobulan snorted.

"Absolutely no pun intended!" he chortled, his self-satisfaction barely muted by twin glares. "If Malcolm is not immediately reassured of Commander Tucker's ahem, _continued affection_ in the morning, he'll naturally assume the worst. Pessimism is extremely bad for human health - you'll have to work on improving his outlook, Commander."

"Let me get past convincin' him I wasn't raped first," Tucker returned sourly. Archer's eyebrows shot past Vulcan levels. 

"Malcolm's not that dumb," he protested.

"Dumb? No Over-sensitive? Yep."

Near-paternal outraged dimmed. "Point taken. Phlox, you'd better comm. Trip as soon as Malcolm starts coming 'round."

"If Mister Tucker reports to Sickbay at 0730 hours, I'll have urgent paperwork to catch up on in my office." With a last fond glance at his patient, Phlox shooed the two anxious visitors toward the door. "Commander, I'd recommend a hot shower and a good night's sleep, and remember - any increase in discomfort, or any unusual discharge, contact me immediately. Goodnight, gentlemen."

It wasn't until the door swooshed in their faces Trip realised they had been dismissed. And that Jon was regarding him with a constipated look that somehow combined embarrassment, glee and an unhealthy dose of curiosity in one. "So: are you going to take the Doctor's advice?"

"Guess so." Trip stuffed his hands into his pockets and fell into step beside the older man, compelled by courtesy to match his dawdling pace. "Not that I'll sleep much, with a guilt-tripping Malcolm to face in the morning!"

Jonathan swung toward him. "You really think it'll be that bad?"

"Worse." His mobile mouth turned down, Trip raked a hand through his already chaotic hair, the words tumbling out in the thickest version of his lazy drawl. "Hell, Jon, he's been paranoid about goin' too fast since the first kiss, and now... don't matter how much Phlox tells 'im it was a medical issue, or ah yell it was mah choice t' go to 'im. When Malcolm's in one 'f those twists, you don't use argumeny. Y' go find a fuckin' transplant surgeon!"

"I'm sorry, Trip."

He shucked off the consoling hand. "Don't be. He's the contrariest lil' bastard in the galaxy but I wouldn't want 'im any other way."

Full lips twitched. "Then I guess you're not going to be running for the hills at the thought of - of..."

Earth's premier ambassador to the galaxy lost for words. If he hadn't been shuffling like a guilty kid, Trip would have laughed his unmatched socks off. "No," he said firmly, taking a smart step into the turbolift and smacking his destination hard. "I won't be. 'Night, Cap'n."

Johnny, he suspected, was about as relieved to end the conversation there as he was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always a reckoning to be had - and the boys both think they have reason to dread it.

"Good morning, Commander." Whatever the hour Phlox was sure to be flitting around Sickbay like an over-excited bird, even if he muted his welcoming warble in deference to his slumbering patient. "Mister Reed will be with us in a moment - if you'll just stand back until I've run a few tests. No residual pain or discharge, by the way? Human males are notoriously reluctant to consult their physicians over distress in any _intimate_ area!"

"I may be walking a little funny Doc, but it's not as bad as _he_ "- jabbing a finger at the biobed "said it'd be."

"Rely on Malcolm to anticipate the worst, eh, Commander?" With a deft movement Phlox pressed a hypospray to the Brit's neck. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Everything's in order, so if you'll just excuse me, I'll just go and... file my nails."

Groggily Reed mouthed the bewildering sentence. "Guess we know what an embarrassed Denobulan looks like now," Trip commented gruffly. 

Instant colour flooded the too-pale cheeks. "Commander!"

Only Malcolm could hit _Attention_ flat out on a biobed in nothing but his _knickers_ , Trip mused, amusement only tightening the steel coils in his gut. "That's an awfully formal way 'f sayin' hello to your boyfriend, darlin'," he drawled, shifting the millimetres required to bring him right into the Englishman's line of sight. Bottom lip disappearing between sharp pearly teeth, Reed turned his face away.

"I assume you're here in an official capacity," he said, visibly flinching from the unmistakable quaver in his voice. "Boyfriend?"

If he hadn't been in love before, Tucker decided, that shy, hopeful little word would have clinched it. "Least, that's what I hope you call me," he said with a bravado he wished was real. Careful not to invade Reed's jealously-guarded space too much he sidled to perch on the edge of the bed, lightly brushing his fingers through the smaller man's soft sable hair. "I'd hate to think you're the kind of guy who'd fuck an' run."

_Ouch_ , he realised when every sinewy muscle in the prone body tightened. If it was the right thing to say to a Tucker, it was almost guaranteed the wrong one to say to a touchy Reed. "I apologise unreservedly for my - behaviour, Commander," Malcolm rapped out, every word as lethally precise as a well-aimed bullet. "As soon as the good doctor sees fit to release me, I'll report to the ready room or the brig, at Captain Archer's convenience."

"Dammit, Malcolm!" It happened every time; Reed's determination to expect the worst triggering an explosive reaction in the Tucker temper. " _I_ came to _you_. I _wanted_ you. Is that so hard for you to understand?" 

"You'd have done the same to help Captain Archer, or Rostov, or any other member of the crew."

Rearing up to his full height, Trip glowered at the shrivelled little figure on the bed, not caring if the whole deck could hear his outraged bellow. "That's crap and you know it. I love you. Hell, I'm the one been beggin' you to lemme go a little further every goddamn night!"

He recognised the blank expression that settled over the younger man's angular features: it was the one that always caused a leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach, visible proof of the barrier Malcolm raised when he was hurting - physically sometimes, but much more often emotionally - and determined not to show it. _Time to lay it all on the line, Trip ol' buddy._

"I love you. Hell, I've been attracted to guys before. I'm not exactly strugglin' with some great revelation here."

"But you always stopped short of acting on those feelings, Commander."

"Malcolm Reed, you use that title one more time and I'll whip your skinny butt from here to the brig myself!"

"I'd like to see you try," Malcolm returned sullenly. Trip threw out his cockiest grin.

"Ah'm sure that could be arranged Lootenant," he drawled, confidence soaring at the minimal twitch of a grin in reply. 

It was gone in an instant as Malcolm expelled a shaky breath. "It's one thing to be attracted, you know - quite another to wake up one morning and look in the mirror at a man involved in a gay relationship. I - I couldn't bear to lose you because you'd been forced into that moment too soon."

"Malcolm." It made, Trip admitted, a unique kind of _Enterprise Armoury Officer_ sense. "I'm not _in a gay relationship_. I'm in love with an incredible person who I _think_ just admitted to loving me back. That you happen to be a man's not important. You're you, and I love you. Period."

"Trip." Holding a serious conversation while flat on one's back wasn't easy. With a lack of elegance a world away from his usual fluid grace Reed dragged himself into a seated position, barely having to tilt back his head to meet his lover's anxious ocean stare. "Think about it. You're shagging a bloke. The Captain and Phlox both know."

"And they'll keep their mouths shut. Johnny 'cause he's cap'n, and Phlox because he doesn't want to find that damn vicious bat in little bitty pieces all over the ship."

_Open mouth, insert boot._

Malcolm's earnestness faded into the cold mask of professionalism. "When people start pointing and whispering because we've been caught snogging in the corridor, you may take the matter more seriously. Sir."

"That mean you're up for a little indiscretion, _Lef-_ tenant?" They were getting nowhere fast, so Trip did what Tuckers always did in an impasse. He lunged forward, dragging a yelping Malcolm into a crushing hug. "I never had you down as the exhibitionist type."

"Let me go, you great demented wassock!" The slim figure in his arms shuddered, and Trip's head went light with shocked delight as he recognised real laughter in the muffled words. Determined not to lose momentum he retained a loose, unthreatening hold even as he let the smaller man sit back slightly, grey eyes bright with affection and unguarded relief.

"You're absolutely sure you don't mind being - well, gay?" he asked, the clouds gathering again over the word. Trip shrugged.

"Technically the term you're wanting's _bi_ ,â€ he corrected amiably. "And in case you've not figured it out yet, Limey, it don't matter a damn if the whole of Starfleet knows!"

He more felt that saw Reed's delicate shudder. "If it's all the same to, you, I'd like to keep it among a single Starfleet crew - for the time being." 

Tucker's eyes widened so far they were in danger of popping out of their sockets. "You don't wanna hide this?" he ventured.

The uncharacteristic timidity was more than he could bear. Malcolm brought up his arms to encircle the anxious engineer, cradling him tenderly. "God, no!" he exclaimed, more loudly than he had intended. "It's just - I've been so afraid of scaring you! You've been straight for thirty-odd years: you've got to adapt to the whole concept of being with a man..."

"Already done. Tuckers don't do no deep thinkin', we just kinda feel." 

It was a risk to play the dumb redneck: sometimes Malcolm laughed and others he'd raise a supercilious eyebrow and coldly suggest the Commander might act up to his rank pips for a change. But it worked.

"Reeds are rather the reverse," the lieutenant observed unnecessarily, one long finger raised to still the inevitable riposte. "Dear God, what a shambles! I've been trying to build your confidence, make you feel good about where we were going and then - _bang!_ One bloody alien stimulant and it's all I can do to stop myself shredding your knickers to get inside 'em! You - it was all right for you?"

"A whole lot better than _all right_ ," Trip corrected, snatching the wayward hand and brushing it against his parted lips. "Having you inside of me was fuckin' incredible, Malcolm. Nobody's ever made me feel so good, and I want to do it again."

The blush that stained the younger man's face enchanted him. "Not for a while, love," Reed murmured, carrying their linked hands his way to trail the tip of his wicked tongue over Tucker's knuckles, lips turning up into a wholehearted smile at the shudder that ran through the larger man. "There are so many ways for two men to enjoy each other and I want to share them all with you. And Doctor, if you're _going_ to eavesdrop, at least _try_ to stay out of sight while you're doing it!"

From the corner of his eye Tucker caught the Denobulan's ungainly sway back behind his office door. "Remember what we said about papers, Doc?" he hollered, getting wearily to his feet as Reed pushed free of his hold. Peeking around the door, Phlox managed an embarrassed snicker. 

"I was merely concerned by the lack of raised voices, Commander - can't have blood being spilled in Sickbay," he chortled, both hands flapping as if to prove there was no PADD concealed within them on his way to feed his waiting menagerie. "You're in excellent health, Lieutenant, so feel free to resume your duties at any time; but please report to me immediately if you experience any sudden surges of sexual arousal..."

"Phlox." Halfway to gathering his waiting uniform Malcolm turned, the mischief that flared, comet-like through his light, bright eyes a stark contrast with his put-upon petulance of his tone. "I've just - apparently - started a rather passionate relationship with a man I adore to distraction. _Sudden surges of sexual arousal_ are perfectly normal under the circumstances."

"Touché, Lieutenant: but please report to me immediately if your remarkable reserves of willpower are insufficient to bring them under control." Chuckling, Phlox returned his attention to his animals, receiving thanks in a series of high-pitched cheeps and squeals. "And Commander... no symptoms to report?"

"Nope." By rights their chirruping C.M.O. should have been a pile of smouldering ashes from the look Malcolm's lover was sending his way, but suddenly a mild indiscretion seemed less important to the naturally secretive Englishman. "C'mon, Mal: we got time for breakfast before reportining for duty; and I can feel one of those _sudden surges_ comin' on over here."

"Tonight, love." It was all Reed could do to stop himself grabbing the gorgeous engineer's hand on his saunter to the outer door. "We may have started where I intended to finish your educational programme, but never mind. If you thought that was good..."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Lootenant." The indulgent chuckles of their resident nosey Denobulan washing off him like water, Tucker fell into step beside his lover, keeping close enough to bask in the other man's body heat. "In fact, any chance I get, I'm just gonna hold you, okay?"

The thought, Malcolm was convinced, would keep a thoroughly stupid grin on his face for the rest of the day. 

_I wonder if I can blame it on my allergies?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy (and smutty) ending.

"There!"

"What, right there?" Blinking the sweat out of his eyes Trip plunged balls-deep for a second time, revelling in the sharp cry that accompanied the clench of powerful limbs around his trunk. Malcolm reared up off his pillow, eyes dark and hot as molten platinum almost popping out of his head as fire lanced up his backbone once more.

"Just - oh! - there," he growled, grinding himself wantonly against the bigger man, desperate to prevent another tormenting withdrawal. "Harder, oh yes Trip, want it harder, oh please, fuck me!"

"Anything you - Malcolm! - want." Getting a sentence out was a small miracle, he decided hazily as his balls slapped softly against the firmness of his lover's ass. The whole evening had been incredible but this - this was the greatest experience of Charles Tucker III's life.

He held himself still, buried deep within his boyfriend's quivering passage while erotic memories flittered across his blurred vision. Malcolm kneeling between his thighs, velvet mouth wrapped around his cock as it spurted a gallon of hot, viscous come down his throat. Himself, fascinated by the slack bliss of release across that usually controlled face when his hand manipulated the Englishman to an unexpectedly noisy climax. And Malcolm's skilled fingers pressing all the right buttons, finding every sensitive point on his hyper-stimulated body before one finger pressed him deep inside, identifying his most unexpected hot spot with the accuracy of a guided missile.

He could even hear that cut-glass British accent, its precise enunciation slipping a little in the moment's heat. "And _that_ , my love, is called your prostate."

Obviously it wasn't just Trip's that exploded every time it was grazed by a lover's extremity. In answer to his man's importuning grunts Trip began to move again, harder and faster, tongue flicking out to catch the beads of perspiration that trickled off the end of his nose. Malcolm reared off the pillow, mouth agape, and he swooped down to share the salt taste in a ravenous kiss.

Malcolm clenched around him, a small whimper bleeding out between their clashing teeth and as if his internal UT had kicked in Trip squeezed a hand between their bodies to curl his hand around the bobbing staff of his partner's erection. 

Mindless, the Brit pushed into his hand before grinding himself down hard around Trip's cock, jerking like a broken marionette in response to each fresh starburst of stimulation. Disengaging from the kiss Tucker dragged back his pounding head, needing to drink in the perfection of his lover's release.

As he hit Reed's prostate once more he gave the penis in his palm a rough pull and the twin pressures brought the universe caving in on the smaller man. He shrieked, clawing at the solid weight above him while his body exploded from inside, a shower of sparks chasing before his goggling eyes that faded slowly to black with the bliss that sluiced through him. He barely heard Trip's climactic howl as the Southerner surged to his own superheated release, the flooding of his bowels a comforting warmth to cosset him on the slide from delirium into torpor. 

The boneless weight covering him shifted slightly, small aftershocks of sensation prickling from his rectum as a flaccid penis slipped free. "Mmmpf," he mumbled, the nearest to a protest his sex-scrambled brain could create. Strong arms wrapped around him, keeping him safe while he was turned onto his hip, his face pressed against the slick strength of a muscular shoulder. Something ruffled his hair.

"Love you."

"Mmmm." Malcolm nuzzled closer, wanting more of the gently petting hands that fluttered over his flank and back. "'s mutual. You staying?"

If his skeleton hadn't just been dissolved in the heat of galaxy-shaking sex, Trip decided, that shy question would have melted every last bone. "As long as you'll let me," he promised, using one hand beneath the sharp chin to steer his boyfriend's sleepy gaze up to his. "You're not gonna have one 'f those _bad allergic reactions_ 'f yours in the morning?"

He watched with fascination as the familiar worried crease formed between the brunet's eyebrows, joy swelling inside that he could at last give way to the urge to lean in and kiss it away. "To having folks notice you," he clarified against the smoothed brow. It creased again like a caress against his parted lips.

"Possibly," Malcolm conceded, too sated to bother with pretence. "You know I'm not comfortable being singled out for anything."

"I've seen the way you blush when Johnny's tried to give you the credit you deserve." The Englishman did it again, faint, dusky colour sweeping up from the base of his throat, and deftly Trip knocked their blanket sideways, intrigued to see the blush disappearing southward too. "You're awful cute when you go all English rose."

"And I dare say you'd look _rather sweet_ with a flattened nose, Mistah Tuckah."

There was no heat in the absent-minded threat, but he pouted and pretended to cower all the same, pleased by Malcolm's unfeigned amusement. "You've got friends on Enterprise, Mal," he said, cupping the sharp-angled face between his palms, the heat of blood beneath the pale skin quickening his own. "Folks might be surprised, but they'll be happy when they see us happy. You know that."

"Do I?"

That was the Reed Enterprise's crew knew, Tucker reflected. The natural-born pessimist whose determination to expect the worst had saved their asses a thousand times. 

It broke his heart.

"But I'll live with it either way." Suddenly, unexpectedly, those winter-sky eyes caught fire, blazing with mischievous affection. Before Trip could ask why, Malcolm had closed the gap between them and captured his lips in a long, thought-stopping kiss.

"Wow!" Bleary-eyed, Trip rolled onto his back, carrying his lover onto his chest to lay limp as a rag doll, limbs flopping on either side of his trunk. "Not that I'm objecting, but - what in hell was that for?"

"There's a treatment for every allergy these days." Malcolm was thankful for the instinctive clasp of the Southerner's arms around him, aware he felt light enough with sheer, dizzying relief to simply float away. "I was just checking the most effective for attention-itis."

At a range of millimetres he clearly saw the calculations of a quick brain in guileless eyes; then felt the sweet cascade of his lover's chuckle skitter over his chin. "Trip Tucker, allergy cure, huh?" 

"My allergy cure." With the taste of that sweet mouth on his tongue, Malcolm was certain he could outface a whole committee of disapproving admirals, never mind a nosy starship crew. Utterly content for the first time in his adult life he snuggled into the crook of his partner's shoulder, letting his heavy eyes drift shut. "I'm not sharing."

A kiss whispered through his tumbled hair, soft laughter lulling him toward sleep. "Don't hafta, darlin'," Trip rumbled, tugging up the single cover against the ship's deliberate night-time chill. "Everybody needs different levels of medication, right? I'm all yours."

The pledge itself, Malcolm decided drowsily, burying his face into the crook of his lover's neck, would deflect the stares of his curious crewmates like personalised hull plating for the next month at least.

And he'd demand ample kiss-therapy to build up his immunity before that wore off!


End file.
